


lives aren't for losing

by CiaranthePage



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Smith's Death, graphic description of violence just to be safe, spoilers for the chapter one finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 10:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14669688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaranthePage/pseuds/CiaranthePage
Summary: Smith thought a lot of things while he died; which was weird, because he'd passed out so quickly after his eye got shot out and he'd always assumed if he got shot to death it'd be a lot like that.(short and bittersweet depiction of his death from his point of view.)





	lives aren't for losing

**Author's Note:**

> title from a Smith fansong by Be Kind To Dogs on [soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/bekindtodogs)/bandcamp!! (and if this isn't your account friend just lmk and i'll fix it!!)  
> this made me cry while i was writing it. not exagerations, no jokes. i started tearing up and sniffling as i wrote that ending. now you can suffer with me.

Smith thought a lot of things while he died; which was weird, because he'd passed out so quickly after his eye got shot out and he'd always assumed if he got shot to death it'd be a lot like that.

 

The thoughts just kept coming as he was dimly aware of the bullet ripping through his ribs and tearing open the bottom of his heart. It was like he was sitting in the thoughts, surrounded by them like water in a swimming pool while he watched Chief’s face melt into the heart-wrenching concern Smith had never thought him capable of and the light in the Priest’s eyes (or, whatever had been there. Spite, maybe? Anger?) flicker out and extinguish. Memories, confusion, regret. The smell of the squad car and seeing the color of the world for the first time. Susan's voice through the radio. The paper of his crayon set in his hands. The smell he'd come to learn was cocaine and blood. The tingling feeling of his fingertips falling asleep. The last few seconds on a loop but filmed on a camera someone had dropped in the ocean. Chief’s voice telling him to quit it with the puns, to put the gun down before he hurt someone, to rest up because he was still healing. Like he was watching skits of his own life play on his new phone.

 

For a second, he almost forgot what had happened. And then he looked down, moving his floating-body and real-body at the same time, and saw the crimson pouring from his chest. His hand moved without him asking it to; the color glittered in the light against his gray skin.

 

 _That must hurt,_ he thought. _I’m glad I can’t feel it anymore_.

 

_Wait. Why can’t I feel it?_

 

_Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god._

 

_I didn’t shoot. I didn’t shoot, I promised Chief I would and I didn’t shoot and now --_

 

His chest twinged and there was a little spurt of blood. Smith scrambled to get back into his body, pushing past all of the thoughts of what had happened to open his mouth and say the words he wanted so desperately to scream. Something told him there would be no screams coming out of his mouth, even to cry, but he had to say _something_.

 

He could feel the leather of the car seat under him like he was still in the squad car, promising Chief that he'd shoot if he had to. He could feel the weight of the promise in his chest, tying him down to the mortal world. The weight of the gun in his hands, the air of Chief’s deadly seriousness. He had just been trying to look out for Smith. And Smith had fucked it up

 

 _I’m in trouble. I didn’t shoot, I waited too long, Chief_ trusted _me to stay safe and now I’m, I’m like, the opposite of safe._

 

He saw Chief turn to him, reach out. Tried to face him in some form of desperate begging for comfort.  He dropped his gun, listened to it clatter on the floor like the sound was in slow motion. Someone was breathing heavily, enough to fill the space between the three of them and rattle in his ears. Was it him? Was he listening to his own dying breaths? Or was it the Priest? Chief? All of them? He’d lost his sense of direction ages (seconds) ago.

 

There was a threat of tears pricking in his eyes. He hadn't cried on duty for ages, ever since Chief asked him to keep it together while they were out after the first time Smith had heard a gun go off  too close to the car he'd been told to wait in just a few days after his recovery from The Incident. But he supposed he wasn't really on duty, now. He never would be again. And he wanted to cry like a baby about it. He'd already disappointed one (now gone) father, and as much as he pretended that wasn't how he saw Chief on some level, he felt the echoing pain of disappointing a second. It was a lot like how he imagined the bullet rattling in his empty eye socket would've been like. Hollow and tasting like blood from nowhere.

 

“Chief. I'm sorry,” he choked through the blood sitting in his throat.

 

He felt his legs give out. He was losing blood. He was losing blood fast. His heart was torn, intestines shredded. One lung definitely had a puncture. The bullet was hot all of a sudden, burning him up and making his last thoughts hard to hold onto. He felt the tears start to leak down his face as he crumpled to the floor, no longer contained by his will to live. He heard Chief call out his name and the cock of a gun. If he'd had any breath left, he could think of a thousand things he wanted to say. _I loved being your partner. There's no one I would rather have come with me to this world of color. I'm sorry, I really am. Run, Chief, run! Don't leave me here. Don't let me die. Let him go, I need your help --_

 

The world felt cold. His fingertips were losing circulation. His lungs gave up, unable to push themselves without his diaphragm responding to his attempts to breathe. He lost feeling in his feet, legs, hands, arms, and then the world went dark. Smith was gone.

 

And, as far as he was concerned, so was Chief. Whose only thought, now, was the Priest and the echoes of the song stuck in his head, one that stung his heart and filled his mouth with blood.

 

_The boys are back in town, the boys are back in town._

**Author's Note:**

> want to yell at me about this fic? want to show me some art based on it? wanna yell about taz with me bcus i know at least some of you are into taz? well, i've got the perfect locations to do so! you can catch me on my tumblr [@thegempage](http://thegempage.tumblr.com/) or my twitter [@achillopal](https://twitter.com/achillopal)


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